Golden sound
by Akiho4
Summary: One night Nine finds Twelve alone on the building rooftop. Apparently Nine isn't the only one plagued by memories.


**Hello! So, this is a story that has been in my mind for a long time. I had some trouble finding the right words, but it's finally finished and I believe the result is what I was hoping for. Please read and leave a review to let me know if I succeeded or not!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Zankyou no Terror**

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 **Golden Sound**

Nine's eyes blinked open in a second as he shot right up, sleep driven away instantly. What happened? A sound? A nightmare? No, definitely not the later one. If so he would be soaked in sweat by now, let alone the terrifying memories of _that_ place that would have crept inside his head. It was something different that woke him in the middle of the night. Searching the small room nervously with his eyes, he tried to locate the cause. Everything seemed fine. Maybe it was nothing…?

Nine let out a deep sigh, but suddenly became aware of the one subtle thing that was missing. Not even spilling a second, he bend over the side of the bunk bed, looking down on the spot where Twelve was supposed to lie. However, the younger one's bed was empty, with the covers messily spread around. No wonder Nine had the feeling something was off. The usual soft breathing of his roommate and friend was absent, which for some reason made Nine only more anxious.

The 17-year old shrugged the thin covers off his body and climbed down the wooden ladder that was connected to the right side of their joined bunk bed. The wheels in his mind spun rapidly, considering all the possible explanations and praying that it really was nothing bad. Just him being overprotective. Nine wouldn't dare to admit it in front of Twelve, but he had always thought of the younger one as a little brother. Twelve was the one that kept him grounded when he was too consumed by work or memories of certain unpleasant places. He couldn't stand to lose Twelve. They had come so far together, so they needed to stay together till the end.

Standing with his bare feet on the cold floor, Nine set his body in motion and made his way to the first place that popped in his mind. Whatever exactly was going on, if Twelve for some reason had trouble sleeping the chances were high that Nine would find him in _there_. It was where Twelve usually went if something bothered the teen. Nine could understand. The wide view overlooking the entire city from the high building roof was somehow calming. As if nothing could catch up to them. Almost as if they were free. Of course, that was just a make-believe, but Nine dreaded to say those things to Twelve.

Carefully he made his way to the stairs and climbed up to the roof. He could hear the howling of the wind even before he opened the door and set foot on the concrete pavement. Despite the evening darkness the rooftop was rather lightened by the sparkling neon signs of the city buildings and the lampposts on the street corners. A few bedsheets flapped in the wind. Apparently someone forgot to bring them inside.

On the far side of the building rooftop, near the fence that separated the high platform from the sickening depth, sat a lonely figure. Brown curly locks of hair dangled in the wind as the figure sat on the ground, his legs brought up to his chest, elbows resting on his knees and two hands pressed tightly against his ears as if they might fall off otherwise. Seeing Twelve in such a broken state alarmed the bells in Nine's head. It resembled the fragile and scared kid Nine had once met in the facility. He still remembered how those cheerful, sparkling brown eyes had cracked and had been replaced by an empty shadow. Shivers had kept him up all night. Since they escaped the facility Twelve's bad episodes became fewer and fewer, but occasionally it hit him like a storm. If counted, Nine might have had more troubled moments (memories, nightmares, headaches...) but Twelve's relapses were without question more intense. Probably because the contrast with his usual demeanor was large.

"H-hi," Nine swallowed and forced his voice to stay calm. What was he supposed to say? Twelve was usually the one to cheer him up, not the other way around.

When the boy in front of him didn't move, Nine almost concluded that his greeting was rung over by the blowing wind, but just before he opened his mouth to speak again a soft voice reached his ears.

"N-Nine?"

Because that single word was all he got, Nine decided to take it as an invitation to approach the younger one. He walked over to the edge of the building and took a standing next to Twelve. He could crouch down, sit beside the boy, comfort him or even hug him, but Nine would not do any of those things. Neither of them ever learned to do any of those sentimental actions. They never experienced the common care and affection normal children received from their parents. Hell, he didn't even know what exactly the role of a parent was, let alone knowing who they were or participating in common family affairs. He and Twelve were interdependent, but in their own way. It was not something other people would understand easily.

"I-I can see them a-again," Twelve's voice cracked, but now that he stood close Nine could hear every word. "The d-…. the dark voices."

Any other normal person would find this sentence strange. That person would probably interpret Twelve's words as confusion since the boy was on edge. 'Cause really? Who can actually _see_ voices? But Nine took on every single syllable with upmost severity. It's called Synesthesia: a rare neurological phenomenon that unites human senses. In Twelve's case, being able to actually see colors in sounds. Unfortunately, not all sounds were rose-colored.

Usually Twelve was only able to see hues in real-life sounds; voices, sounds of traffic, chirping of birds, etc. But during his relapses it seemed as if Twelve was also able to identify the colors of sounds that only existed in his mind. Sounds and voices from long ago, when they were still locked up in that horrific facility. Nine never asked what the voices looked like and he secretly wished he'd stay ignorant. If Twelve described the voices as 'dark' and 'hollow', how far more terrifying would they appear to be if painted right before your eyes?

"They're not real, Twelve," Nine stated slowly. He knew Twelve was dealing with a lot right now and none of his encouragements would make the haunting memories to vanish. If that was possible, the two of them would have tried to do so a long time ago. "They're not real. They only exist in your head. We're not _there_ anymore. We left that place behind, blew it up till it burned to the ground. I know it's hard to forget, hell, I know that better than anyone, but you can't go there. You have to stash those thoughts away. Lock them up. We have a mission, Twelve, you and I. We promised to do just one thing to ensure the world we exist. Until then you've got to clear your head."

His words were rubbish. Every single one of them. They would never be able to free themselves from the past. They never intended to. Their mission went far beyond the point of being free. There was only one goal: to be remembered. The void in his voice stirred nothing in Twelve. The younger one felt exactly the same. No, it wasn't the message that Nine desperately wanted to deliver. It were the sounds. The sounds of his deep blue voice.

When he glanced sideways he noticed relieved the change in Twelve's posture. The trembling pale hands no longer covered his ears with frightening force. Instead the younger boy had tipped his head to the right, leaning it against one shoulder and listening intently.

"Your voice… It's like the night sky," Twelve mumbled weary. "Do you think the stars transmit a golden sound?"

Nine overlooked the midnight city view. Flickering light popping up between the dark filled houses and streets.

"Probably."

Interdependent, in their own way.

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 **A.**


End file.
